


Breaking

by Rhiannon87



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll learn to obey. Even if we've got to beat it into you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking

This was it. They'd make him Tranquil now for sure. If only he'd gone farther than Redcliffe... Anders glared at the restraints on his arms. A week. One week of freedom, and once they were done with him, he wouldn't even remember it.

The Templars on either side of him stared forward impassively. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter were deciding his fate on the other side of the door. The waiting was torture in and of itself. If they were going to hang him, or destroy his mind, he really wished they'd just bloody get it over with.

The door slammed open, and he glanced up. Knight-Captain Brentan marched out of the office and loomed over him, arms folded across his chest. “For some reason, you're getting another chance,” he snapped. “But you're still gonna pay, mage. You'll learn to obey. Even if we've got to beat it into you.” He jerked his head at the Templar guards. “Take him to the barracks. My office, back room.”

The guards grabbed his arms and started dragging him down the hall. “I can walk, you know,” Anders pointed out, feeling almost cheerful. Not that he was exactly looking forward to a beating, but it was far better than being made Tranquil. His body would heal.

One of the guards slammed a gauntlet into his temple, dazing him. “You'll speak when you're told to, mage,” she snapped.

“I'm just saying,” he muttered, “it'd be easier on your arms. Not that you don't seem like perfectly capable individuals--”

Another blow, this time to the back of his head, hard enough that he almost blacked out. The Templars hauled him to the Knight-Captain's office without further resistance. The “back room” turned out to be exactly what Anders had guessed: a nice little torture chamber. Nothing too fancy, just whips and manacles, but they'd got the job done.

One of the Templars sliced off his shirt, deliberately cutting just a little deep and leaving thin lines on his arms and back. The other yanked his arms up over his head and hooked the magical restraints to a chain dangling from the ceiling, then manacled his legs to the floor. Then they left without another word, leaving him alone in the near dark.

Anders sighed and looked around. He definitely wasn't getting out of this. Even if he could slip the restraints-- a trick he had yet to master, though he certainly had plenty of opportunity for practice-- there were likely several guards waiting just outside. And considering his reputation, they'd be keeping a close eye on him.

Having a reputation for being good at escaping wasn't bad. Having one for actually being successful at it, that'd be something else. The apprentices still told stories in hushed voices about the last successful escape, some mage from about twenty years ago. The stories tended to end with him running off to Tevinter to become a blood mage and devourer of children, but Anders always sort of doubted that. Most mages who tried to escape didn't want to conquer anything. They just wanted to... walk around, talk with people, own a home. Go outside in the rain.

He smiled at the thought. It had rained twice in Redcliffe while he'd been away. He'd gotten soaked to the skin both times, and it had been wonderful. In retrospect, that might have given him away. Normal people weren't quite so excited about weather.

The door opened and closed behind him. Anders tried to turn his head to see the Knight-Captain. “I do appreciate the quick service you Templars always provide.”

Brentan snorted, moving around the room out of his sight. “When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?”

“Not sure. It's harder than you might think, actually, since I--”

Thin, fiery lines of pain seared across his back. He gasped, eyes wide. “Thirty lashes,” Brentan said. “Knight-Commander's orders.” The lash came down again. “Maybe you'll think twice before running next time, mage.”

Anders swallowed hard. “Shall I keep count for you? Thirty's an awfully high number--”

Several blows in rapid succession. “That's one,” Brentan sneered.

Anders bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. The Captain wanted him to learn to keep his mouth shut? Fine. He wasn't about to give the man the satisfaction of screaming.

\--

He was only barely conscious when the Templars dumped him back in his cell. His back felt completely raw, like he had no skin left on it. And he'd seen the blood on the floor when they'd finally carried him out; he'd lost rather a lot. Maybe that was the plan, just let him bleed to death. An unfortunate accident, they’d say. He certainly couldn't heal himself with the restraints still on.

Anders lay on the cool stone floor for a few minutes, struggling not to sob in pain with every breath. He started trying to push himself to his knees. He'd die in his bed, dammit, not on the floor like a beaten dog. He still had some dignity. It might be as shredded as his skin, but it was something.

The pain was almost unbearable. He fell back to the floor, gasping, eyes squeezed shut. _Think about rain._ Anders blinked hard, trying to pull up the memory, to force himself to think about the roiling gray clouds and cool water on his face, anything but the pain--

“No one's allowed to see the prisoner.”

“The First Enchanter sent me, ser.”

He turned his head slightly to look at the door. The voices were hard to make out, but the second one, the woman, sounded familiar... “No magic, understand? You cast on him, you share his punishment.”

The woman said something in reply, then the door unlocked and swung open. Someone drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Anders.”

 _Thank the Maker for small mercies._

 

“Hello, Wynne,” he said, trying to smile as she knelt down beside him. “Y-you look lovely as ever.”

She smiled and stroked his hair, brushing a few locks off his face. “I'm old enough to be your mother, dear,” she said. She sighed and lightly touched his shoulder, just above the wounds. “What did they do to you?” she murmured.

“Thirty lashes,” he said. “Captain's not very good at keeping count, though. Had t-to keep starting over...”

Wynne exhaled, and he could see her hands slowly uncurl from fists. “This is too much,” she murmured. “You're just a boy...”

“'m seventeen,” he mumbled.

“As I said.” She opened up her healer's kit, pulling out supplies. “I'll need to clean the wounds first,” she said. “It's going to hurt.”

“'s okay,” he said, closing his eyes. He was too tired to keep making jokes. And he didn't have to impress her. Wynne was nice to him. She was nice to everybody.

Anders choked back a cry as Wynne started dabbing at the cuts. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I'm so sorry, dear...”

\--

Wynne pressed the last bandage into place and surveyed her handiwork. “That should hold,” she said. “Try not to move around too much.”

Anders smirked. “I suppose I can skip the morning jumping-jacks routine, if you really insist.”

She shook her head at him and stood up off the bed, moving around the small cell to clean up her supplies. There were a lot of bloodstained bandages and rags. “Do you know when they're going to take off the restraints?”

“Probably not for a while,” he said. “It'd sort of defeat the purpose of beating the rebellion out of me if I could just heal myself up and go whistling on my way.” His voice cracked at the end, and he looked down, clearing his throat.

Wynne sighed and knelt in front of him. “Why do you keep running, Anders?” she asked. “You know they're going to find you.”

“Because they do this,” he snapped. “Because they beat me bloody if I want to meet a pretty girl or visit a tavern or—or go out in the rain...” He trailed off and rubbed futilely at his eyes, hands still mostly restrained by the cuffs.

She sighed and brushed the tears off his face with gentle fingers. “I miss it too,” she murmured quietly.

Anders blinked at her as she stood up. “Why'd you give up?”

Wynne smiled sadly. “Because I got old,” she replied. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Get some rest, dear,” she said. “I'll come by in a day or two to check on the bandages.”

Anders nodded, and watched her leave. The door slammed shut, and he counted the locks, one two three. He carefully eased himself down onto his side, restrained hands tucked awkwardly in front of him, and started planning his next escape.


End file.
